


Home

by GraarPlacemat



Series: Niner, Niner [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Cowboys & Cowgirls, Grimmons - side pairing, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Period Typical Attitudes, sargenut - side pairing, tuckington - side pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraarPlacemat/pseuds/GraarPlacemat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home is where your memories lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> I decided I'd like to expand the Niner, Niner universe, so I started with a bit of the Blood Gulch Crew! If you have suggestions for who I may target next, please waltz over to my Tumblr(missplacemat) and let me know. :)

Railways were built. Cattle transportation systems were reformed. Cattleherds weren’t needed anymore. Less than a year after Church joined the trails, those same trails became a thing of the past. There was nothing he could do about it.

But if he went home, he didn’t know if he’d ever leave. And he couldn’t afford that, couldn’t afford to spend one more day in that house, with that man.

So he asked Tucker, and Tucker said he wanted to find somewhere new. Somewhere that his race wouldn’t define who he was, but not the trails, not anymore. Church shrugged and said okay, and they went northwest, and one way or another the others followed them. They found a town that they didn’t quite fit in, and an abandoned homestead a few miles outside it that they felt fit slightly better, and they built it up into a ranch that fit perfectly. Even the Reds were happy. They raised sheep, because they’d seen enough cattle to last them a lifetime and Donut was a pretty talented sempster when it came right down to it.

Church sent his father a letter, not really expecting one back but figuring it wouldn’t hurt to let the man know he had a permanent address and maybe, just a little bit, hoping his expectations would be defied.

Two weeks later, he got a letter.

 

“What do you make of it, Church?” Washington - as they’d finally settled on calling him - prompted.

Church sighed, long and slow and aggravated. “I don’t have a clue. All I can think is if he actually bothered to send me something, I’m not likely to appreciate what it says.”

“He’s your father.”

“Yeah, and you never met him. Wait ‘til Tucker gets in from town, he’ll tell you what an ass he was.”

“Well, if you ask me,” Donut piped up, “you should at least read it. It could be important!”

“When did I ask you?” Church countered.

“When you came in and said you needed to -”

“Yeah, well, I was talking to Wash. You just came along for the ride.”

“I think it’s a fair suggestion, Church,” Wash interceded, giving him a look. “You never know what might have happened back home.”

Something inside Church flinched at the idea of what that could mean. Instead of letting that fear show, he held out his hand. Wash placed the sealed envelope into it. With one last glance at his companions, he popped the wax and pulled out the letter.

 

_Eastwood is in trouble. Please take him with you._

 

He squinted at the writing. It was shakier than how his father normally wrote. And Eastwood, in trouble? Church had actually dared to hope that his youngest sibling wouldn’t be as fucked up as the rest.

Donut was peeking over his shoulder. “Who’s Eastwood?”

“My kid brother,” Church muttered distractedly. He flipped the sheet over, wondering if there would be more. There had to be. His father, despite his faults, was a proper man; he accurately addressed and signed letters, and he was straight to the point, if a little vague. He knew this because he knew his father.

“Well,” he mused aloud, “I guess this means I’m taking a trip.”

He ignored the sickness clutching his insides.

 

He asked Caboose to come with him. He didn’t want to take Wash along because he feared what would become of the ranch without either his or Wash’s guidance, and Tucker wasn’t really interested in dealing with Church’s father. Moreover, he wasn’t much a fan of spending time with most of the Reds - Donut was nice and everything, but he had to be taken in small doses - and he feared that after speaking with his father, he would at the very least want some company. If that company had to be Caboose, then so be it.

There was also the matter of how Caboose had been on the verge of tears when Church told him he would be gone for a week, but surely that wasn’t as big a factor as Tucker was making it out to be.

Because of the urgent nature of the message, they went by train. It was Church’s first time as well as Caboose’s, and he quickly resolved never to do it again - the intense motion sickness he began to suffer within half an hour of boarding did not, in his opinion, mitigate the speed of travel. Nonetheless, Caboose seemed to enjoy it, and spent plenty of time looking out the windows and pointing landmarks out to Church. In most cases, he considered it an annoyance, but there were a couple small moments where they seemed a welcome distraction from his misery.

The ride was two days long.

 

His hometown had gotten bigger since he’d left. This was and wasn’t a surprise; no, there was no longer a cattle trail ending right at that location, but the train station and the Western allure drew plenty of Easterners in nonetheless. All around the station, Church could see buildings going up and being expanded.

The saloon hadn’t expanded. Not at all. In fact, in direct contrast with its surroundings, it seemed to have regressed in its growth. It appeared shrunken with the taller, brighter buildings surrounding it, and the only people inside were somber-faced and hunched. When Church passed, every single pair of eyes that met his lit up in recognition. The ones who had stayed were the ones who had always been there.

“I remember this place,” Caboose observed loudly, disturbing the still, dusty air of the room. A couple of the regulars grimaced; they clearly remembered Church’s younger, more boisterous companion quite as well as him.

“That’s a surprise,” Church muttered, “I hardly recognize it, myself.”

There were two unfamiliar women behind the counter. They looked similar to one another, Church noticed. Similar enough to be sisters. When he approached, one of them looked up, frowned, and nudged the other.

“Eastwood, sir, I did not know you had left your room!” chirruped the one who had noticed him in a strangely conciliatory tone. “And I did not know you had a friend visiting.”

The other one finally looked up. She tutted and shook her head. “Phyllis, that is not Eastwood. If I had to guess, it is the brother that the master has told us so much about.” She smiled. Something in it felt false. “A pleasure to meet you, Leonard Junior. My name is Sheila, and this is my sister. We’re the caretakers.”

“I’m Caboose!”

Church squinted, ignoring Caboose’s self-introduction and the cordial greetings offered him by the duo. “East’s eighteen. He’s too old for a nanny.”

“You’ve misunderstood, sir,” corrected Phyllis. “We’re not here for Eastwood.”

“Who could you possibly -”

“We’ve been taking care of your father, sir,” Sheila corrected, and her grin was predatory. “I am afraid Eastwood is beyond helping.”

 

The door to his father’s office was heavy, and it was thick. Church remembered when he was younger and he’d thought of it as an impenetrable barrier, the one thing that kept him safe. As long as that barrier was there, his father wasn’t, and that was the best thing he could hope for.

He’d left Caboose downstairs. He had enjoyed speaking to the two women more than Church had, and Church didn’t particularly feel like subjecting anybody to the pain his father could put a person through. Least of all himself.

He clenched his fists and he knocked on the door.

“Pa?”

He wished he’d let Caboose come.

“Pa, it’s Junior.”

He wished he’d brought Tucker, or even Wash.

“Pa…”

He pushed open the door. It swung easily on its hinges. Someone had finally oiled them.

It was dark inside, but his father’s eyes were green. Green, like Charlotte’s.

He’d never really liked that color.

“East?”

“No, Junior.”

He was slumped over his desk. His papers were scattered. He’d never liked that. He’d never allowed it to happen. He was scrupulous, always.

He almost felt sorry.

“Don’t let them take him from me,” begged the color green.

“Who? Where? Why would they take him? The women downstairs said -”

“They want to take him where they took Charlotte, Junior.”

He nearly choked on the hot red-and-green air. “Out East?”

“He tried to kill himself.” One of the paintings that used to hang on the wall was in his hands. He was cradling it like Allison. “And me.”

He might have done it, himself.

He was going to do it if something didn’t change.

“You want  _me_  to take him?”

“I haven’t heard from Charlotte since they took her.”

“And you think it’ll be better if I take him?”

“I want you to take him with you, Junior.”

“People call me Church now,” he spat, and then he realized his mistake.

But his father didn’t stand up. He didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t hit Church hard enough to send him sailing into the wall.

His father smiled wistfully.

“My children never did listen to me, did they?”

 

East was white as a sheet. His eyes were the palest blue Church had ever seen as a facial feature, like tiny chips of ice embedded in his irises, but compared to his skin they were vivid and bright.

He sat in his bed, and he clutched a book to his chest. Similar-looking tomes were scattered over his blankets, on his nightstand, on the floor, and the curtains were drawn. It was strange how much he looked like his father. And like Church. He’d grown a lot since Church had left.

“We’re going,” Church told him firmly.

“I don’t want to.”

“East.”

East wasn’t looking into his eyes. He was looking at his chest, or his shoes, or the wall behind him. “What.”

Church stepped forward, to the foot of the bed. “Do you know how many times I wanted to do exactly that same thing?” he hissed, “Do you know how many times I wanted to shoot him and then myself? Do you really think you’re the only one who he tortured with his stupid fucking words?”

“You’re not making your own case very well,” East growled.

“It’s come with me, go where Charlotte did, or stay here,” Church pressed on, “You can’t stay here, East. It’s poison and they don’t want you anyway, and you’ll end up like Charlotte in the end. And you don’t want to end up like Charlotte.”

“Like you’re any better than him,” East mumbled, staring listlessly into the corner.

“Don’t you fucking say that.”

“You’re the reason why he hates me.”

Church froze.

“He wishes I was you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“He does.”

“We’re going. I have a...a friend. You’ll probably hate him, but -”

“Stop. I’m coming.” East dragged himself upward, grabbed three books, and dropped to his knees next to the bed. “I’ve been packed for ages.”

 

East sat opposite Caboose on the train and flinched when Church tried to sit next to him, so he had to sit next to Caboose. He was, admittedly, a little irked by the arrangement, but in the end he figured that if Caboose tried to edge closer East would see why he preferred to sit next to his brother and allow it.

But Caboose didn’t try anything. He began talking, telling stories, and East leaned forward, eyes clear and focused in a way that Church hadn’t expected, and even though the stories were warped in a way that only Caboose could accomplish, he seemed to appreciate them.

He hadn’t said a word since he and Church had emerged from his room, but every time Caboose offered a new story, he nodded hungrily.

 

“Great. Now we’ve got two isolationist grumpy assholes on deck. Just what I always wanted.”

Tucker elbowed Grif in the ribs. “No, East is cool. Right, kid?”

East addressed his brother. “Where’s my room?”

“You don’t get your own room. You’re sharing with me.”

East looked sick. Tucker and Wash exchanged a look.

 

“That boy don’t know a thing ‘bout pulling his weight,” Sarge grunted. He didn’t say who he was talking about, but Church knew anyway. He ignored the comment and whistled for the dogs.

“Lopez, here,  _my_  boy, he knows what needs to be done, and he does it. Lopez is a good kid, he is.”

The boy in question muttered something under his breath.

“What was that, Lopez?”

“Gracias, Padre,” Lopez replied, dropping from his perch on the fence and striding towards the herd, imitating Church’s whistle. His favorite dog, a lop-eared mutt that some called Here Boy and others called Heel and others just whistled for, came bounding forward, yapping excitedly. Lopez scratched his ears.

“What the hell do you expect  _me_  to do about it?” Church sighed, perhaps a little bitterly.

“Tell him he needs to man up! Tell him to do some work once in awhile!”

Wash was riding up the road on his horse. He must have been coming back from town.

“Look, Sarge, I don’t know how to talk to him any more than anybody else! If it’s that important, why don’t you do it? Or Donut? He’s good at talking about feelings and crap.”

“Is this about East?” Wash intervened, bringing his ride to a halt.

“Like you guys will talk to me about anything else, lately,” Church snapped. “Of course it’s about East, it’s one more opinion about how I should deal with him that I absolutely don’t fucking need.”

Wash raised his eyebrows. He turned his gaze toward the farmhouse up the road. “I could try talking to him, if you wanted,” he offered.

“Go ahead if you think it’ll do anything,” Church groaned.

“Then I will.”

Sarge and Church watched him go.

“I always thought he was an odd one,” Sarge commented.

 

Wash stayed in East and Church’s room for a long time. They talked quietly, and anyone trying to listen was hard-pressed to decipher a single word. When he emerged, he did it loudly. He slammed the door and stormed out of the house, away towards the fields. He had tears streaming down his face.

“Fuck,” Tucker said when he saw him, and followed.

Church stayed where he was. He wondered what in the hell could have made Wash, of all people, that broken up. He didn’t even notice Caboose approaching until the man was already sitting next to him at the kitchen table.

“I don’t get why they all don’t like East so much,” Caboose told him. “I think he’s very nice. He listens to my stories and writes good ones, too.”

Church didn’t quite have the heart to rebuff Caboose right at that second. Instead he turned his head towards him and frowned. “What did you say?”

“I don’t get why -”

“Since when does East  _write?_  Since when could you  _read?_  Since when did he let you  _read_  what he  _writes?_ ”

“Those are a lot of questions and I’m not sure -”

“He hasn’t even looked at me since...since we got him. Why would he let you read what he writes and not me?”

Caboose blinked slowly down at him. “I’m sorry, Church.”

Church sighed roughly and stood up. He strode briskly for the front door and wrenched it open. Outside, he could see the distant tiny figures of Wash lying on his back in the field and Tucker sitting next to him. Tucker waved, and a couple seconds later Wash sat up and did the same.

His eyes felt like they were burning. He glanced upward at the starry sky and remembered that the Reds had gone to bed hours ago. It was past midnight.

“I can’t sleep in his room anymore,” he mumbled.

“Would you like to take mine?”

“I was hoping I could switch with Wash if they got along okay. I guess they didn’t,” he admitted.

“We could have a sleepover, Church!”

He opened his mouth to give a scathing retort and then reconsidered. He watched Wash slumped over himself in the field, with Tucker patting his back.

“That sounds great, Caboose,” he exhaled.

 

Caboose’s room had only one bed, and Caboose was a cuddler to end all cuddlers. Church was loathe to admit that it actually kind of helped.

Tucker, despite his usual habits, shrugged it off. “Wash was gonna tell you to give East his own room, anyway. I guess he doesn’t have to now.”

“Brilliant. Caboose is going to squeeze all the life out of me in my sleep.”

“It’s better than if you switched with Wash, pal. He definitely needed my company last night, if you know what I mean.”

“What, was he crying again?”

Tucker slowly shook his head. He grinned. Church realized very suddenly what he was getting at.

“Oh, god, what? That’s disgusting. I mean, not - I mean -”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t want to with Caboose.”

“I didn’t. I really, really didn’t.”

“Well, you’ve never had a girlfriend and you don’t seem to mind everyone else -”

“Everyone else? What?”

Tucker gave him a deadpan stare.

“Oh, my god - Like, Grif and Simmons?”

“There’s a reason we all joined the trails, Church!”

“Well, that certainly wasn’t mine!”

“Then what was?”

“Oh, come on, Tucker, like you don’t know!”

“I really don’t! You never fucking told me!”

“I never had to! You were there! You knew her! You knew  _him_! If anyone knew why I left, it was you!”

“Well, I didn’t! You never told me! You never told anybody! You told us that story about Niner, and that’s it! That’s not a reason! You left the trails just as willingly as anyone else, if you were really looking for her -”

“You  _saw_  him!” Church bellowed, “You saw what he did to me! You patched me up afterwards, you can’t honestly be trying to tell me -”

Tucker froze. “You mean...I thought that was the other guys, Church. I thought some drunk cowherds...I mean, it was common enough…”

Church could feel moisture on his cheeks. He felt it burning his skin, burning his flesh and all the layers of him like the color green. He ran out the barn door and down the dirt path towards the farmhouse. Simmons was feeding the dogs and tried to stop him to ask what was going on, but he went ignored.

The porch steps creaked under his feet. The windows rattled when he threw the door open. And when he reached the room that was supposed to be his, he stopped in his tracks because Caboose was there and so was East. East was holding one of his goddamn books.

Church slapped it out of his hands.

“I’ve fucking had it up to here with you,” he screeched.

Church. Caboose said.

“He never wanted you to be me.”

Church.

“He never even wanted  _me_  to be me.”

Church, please.

“He wanted us all to be Allison.”

Church, look, he’s -

“And he wanted Allison to be our mother,” he sobbed.

“Church,” Caboose said.

Caboose was cradling him to his chest. East was curled in a ball on the floor, pinned against the wall with fear. Wash and the rest of them were standing in the hall, staring at him. East was staring at him. Right in the eyes.

Everything was green.

“The past is only going to hurt you, Church,” Caboose whispered into his ear. East was still staring.

“You can’t keep living in the past,” Wash rasped. His voice was full of scars. Tucker was standing at his shoulder like a support beam. East was still staring.

Church was helpless. He pointed at East. “He’s the one who lives in the past,” he told them. “It’s him, not me.”

East was still staring.

 

Church gave Caboose his horse. Its name wasn’t Four-Seven anymore. Caboose named her Freckles. She’d always liked him best, anyway.

 

East left. He said Church looked too much like someone he used to know. He went to find some friends he could maybe start his own ranch with.

 

Wash and Tucker still shared the same room. Church saw them kiss once. He also saw the others kissing. Simmons and Grif. Donut and Sarge. Lopez only liked dogs.

 

Caboose was tall, and he was strong. The past never bothered him because he never remembered it right. Maybe it was on purpose.

 

Church told them everything, and it wasn’t his job to remember anymore. Caboose told him that.

“I’ll remember, Church,” he told him, and they rocked back and forth together. “I’ll remember for you. You don’t have to anymore.”

Church pushed away and went to shear the sheep. Caboose hovered nearby. Every so often, like a child to its mother, he wandered back and took his hand to make sure he was still there. And then he walked away again. They kept sleeping together.

“You two are just snug as two peas in a pod, aren’t you?” Donut observed cheerfully.

His father sent him letters, sometimes.

“If y’all would just stop mooning over each other all the time, we might get some work done,” Sarge grumbled.

He never read them.

Lopez rolled his eyes whenever they passed.

He tossed them in the fireplace to burn.

“I can’t believe it took this long,” Grif snickered.

Caboose always rescued them before he could get the flint.

“Oh, Grif, look over there at that interesting thing,” Simmons shouted so Grif wouldn’t say any more.

Church didn’t know where he kept them, but he really didn’t care to.

Tucker wolf whistled and waggled his eyebrows at every opportunity.

At night, Caboose would hold him close and hum until he fell asleep.

“The future is waiting for you,” Wash reminded him. “The past will only eat you alive.”

“You don’t have to remember anymore,” Caboose whispered.

He’d never go home again.


End file.
